Go Ahead And Jump, Sid
by Wheatbread
Summary: The Far Side. A Big, Fluffy Bunny Rabbit saves the day in the Old West, and yet another inexplicable Gary Larson scenario mystery is laid to rest. Five short chapters. Please Review.
1. Chapter 1 Waiting On My Ride

_I've no claims on the Far Side, owned by Gary Larson. This fanfiction is a take-off on one of his inexplicable comic sketches, using the name he gave to the rabbit. Read and Review._

**Go Ahead and Jump, Sid… **

Chapter One: Waiting on My Ride

"Ladies and Gentleman, may I have your attention, please." It was the manager of the stagecoach station. He stepped onto the small stack of soapboxes he had erected on the platform. A dapper little man with a pot-belly, he held his cigar like a conductor's baton in one hand as he addressed the crowd of five…(or four and a half, however you wanted to count the small chubby boy clinging to his mother's skirt). An angry lot they were, too, and the little man in the silk vest took a moment to wipe the perspiration from his brow with a clean white handkerchief pulled from a breast pocket.

When all eyes in the tiny group of shapeless, overweight passengers had turned to him and the murmuring died down to an occasional angry whisper, the manager stood, tall as he could, and began explaining the reason for the tardiness of the next stagecoach. The weary travelers, already taxed to the limits of their patience listened with baited breath. By this time in the ordeal, none really cared for the "why" of their delay but yearned only to hear the "when" of the end of it!

"Ladies and Gentlemen, in behalf of Westerland Stage Lines, I want to first express our deepest apologies for your inconvenience in being kept longer than any of us anticipated." A collective murmur rumbled through the crowd. The manager again mopped his brow.

"I can assure you that this delay…er, while it may appear there is no end in sight to it…is…"

"Come-on!" said an angry, heavy-set man in a brown plaid suit, "This is the same speech you gave us two hours ago!"

Someone else shouted, "I've got to get to Carson City! If the stage can't get me to the railway depot in time to catch my train, I'll look for other means!" He was eyeing the striped Bedouin tent across the street, its sign marked "CAMEL RENTALS."

Amid the mounting uproar, the manager again regained the crowd's attention, this time waving both the cigar _and_ his handkerchief. "Please, folks! Please!" he said, and seeing that they had turned to listen one more time he jumped down among them and spoke with a fervor unusual in a man of his position. But there was good reason.

It could be his last chance. There was more at stake than just this one group of travelers or a single tardy stagecoach. Rumors had been floating his way now for weeks…disapproval from his superiors. It was his job on the line, so this would have to be the sell of the century as far as he was concerned, and—the manager glanced around at the angry faces—with this crowd it was apt to require the very best salesmanship he could muster.

Faking an air of confidence he didn't feel, the manager boldly proclaimed, "As you know, Westerland Stage Lines has never failed _yet_ in getting its cargo, its crew, _and_ its passengers safely _and_ timely to their destinations!" He took a moment for a breath, but did not allow himself to study the crowd's reaction. After all, he wasn't the only one in the room who could spot the statement for what it was, a bald-faced lie! He glanced sidelong at the station's telegraph operator who looked the other way, shaking his bespectacled head.

In the last month alone they had lost three stagecoaches—all to unexplained catastrophes. But, no time for soul searching now! The little man continued, blazing: "We have the very best and fastest horses, the most comfortable coaches! Why, you'll think you are floating on air when you're flying down the road in them." He hunched down and pretended to look off into the distance as he trailed his open hand, palm down in an even glide across the air. Smooth.

Now came the really big stretch, and he sucked another breath for the task. "We have the most courageous and skilled _drivers_ that the entire West has to offer! Truly, there are no betters where our drivers are concerned. And…"

"Well!" shouted a person from the group, someone with a shred of common sense. "If they are _so_ good…and that's a highly debatable point right about now…then, _where_ are they?" The face behind the voice stopped and stared at the manager, hesitating just enough for effect but not long enough that anyone else could jump in and interrupt. The would-be passenger spat, "Pray Heaven…_tell_ us! W_here?" _

It was the perfect dramatic pausing. And all eyes turned back to the little manager who stood, beet red and nibbling his cigar in front of them all, right there on their level. _There has to be one in every crowd_, he thought_, It's a mathematical law or something._ He longed to be back up on the soapboxes…or better yet, anywhere but here. He glanced nervously around, considering possible escape routes and was just about to begin sobbing when, suddenly, a cry rang out from further down the platform…


	2. Chapter 2 The Farside of Absurdity

_I've no claims on the Far Side, owned by Gary Larson. This fanfiction is a take-off on one of his inexplicable comic sketches, using the name he gave to the rabbit. Read and Review._

**Go Ahead and Jump, Sid…**

Chapter Two: The Far Side of Absurdity

"Here she comes! _Here she comes!"_ It was young Donovan, the station assistant. The boy was jumping up and down. He turned to the crowd, "The stage, she's a comin'! And good old _Sid_ is driving her hard." The plump red-headed youth grinned past the crowd and back to the station manager, his long buck teeth looking forevermore like those belonging to the very driver the boy held in such hero-worship.

The manager mopped his brow once more and exhaled slowly as the stagecoach appeared around the corner trailing a cloud of dust and rumbled toward them. It skidded to a stop next to the platform. There was no doubt about it, the driver knew how to apply that hand brake. Perfect horse handling, too.

The shotgun man leapt up from his seat and scrambled to cut loose the baggage stowed on top of the coach. The doors of the coach were swept open wide, and weary-eyed, beleaguered men, women and children were helped unsteadily to the platform where they wandered off in search of refreshments and long overdue outhouse breaks.

Amid the hubbub of passengers exchanging seats, crew and baggage being shifted, the station master stood—alone on the platform—and looked up into the eyes of the driver who hadn't budged from his perch behind the horses. Returning the gaze without so much as a blink, that driver—Sid—a large, white Rabbit with buggy eyes and buck teeth stared back at the man.

"Well, Sid," said the manager, "you nearly killed us this time."

"May be," said the Rabbit calmly. He still didn't bat an eye, though his long whiskers seemed to twitch just a little in amusement. The Rabbit reached into the saddlebag at his feet and withdrew a slender orange carrot. Holding it like a fine cigar and nibbling, he finally turned his head and nodded at the crowd, "What's up, Doc? I got them here, didn't I?"

"Listen," the manager hissed, coming close enough to put his hands on the buckboard, "You better not mess up this time, got it? You…if you weren't our _only_ driver right now you'd be back out _there!"_ he pointed off behind them to the tumbleweeds and desert beyond the town, "…be-bopping down the bunny trail, if you know what I mean."

The Rabbit simply shrugged, not impressed. He didn't much care for this job anyhow. It was just something to amuse himself with while waiting for his call to come play ball for the New York Knickerbockers. Besides, everyone knew he was the best driver the line…maybe _ever_ had. It wasn't his fault that all they gave him to work with were four lame horses—instead of six healthy steeds like Wells Fargo had—and a broken down coach. And that was all without mentioning a tired out, cranky old shotgun man like Frank, to boot!

That was the worst part, too: _Frank_. The fat old codger was always deriding him every chance he got, saying stuff like, "Go ahead, Sid, jump down from there and fetch me some water. You're a rabbit, you can catch up." The man forevermore wanted to sit in the driver's seat. Ahh, that was it, Frank was jealous of him, always taunting him for being "soft" but then wanting to sit close, probably just so he could brush up against his fur. It was annoying.

"Hey! I'm whispering to you, Bucko!" said the manager, his face showing red again. "Don't act like you can't hear me with those long floppy ears of yours. I know you can." The man shoved angrily back from the coach and stood there steaming below the Rabbit who gawked back at him like he was giant carrot or something. It was all the man could do to scrape together the tatters of his dignity and not to lose it with this Rabbit.

No, not in front of the crowd. They were happy enough now, they were boarding the coach. And, lucky for him, they had been too preoccupied with getting themselves and their belongings onto the stage to notice the grumblings from the arriving passengers. Now, while fresh horses were being hitched to the stage, it was the only chance he would get to make some sense to this driver.

Ooh, the thought of it just burned him up, that he had to live in such a world where a situation like _this_ could be foisted upon him. Here he was, standing below a smart alec jack of a varmint like Sid, having to restrain himself from shooting the animal and cooking him for supper, all because his own career depended on him. It was the far side of outrage, but it was the hand he'd been dealt. And he would have to play it the best he could.

"Listen, Sid," he said, as gently as he could to the Rabbit. "You know Frank has been gunning for your job, and…"

"So, why don't you give it to him, then?" said Sid interrupting, the scorn thick in his husky young voice. "You know the answer as well as I. Frank couldn't drive to save his _own_ skin much less _yours_…" The Rabbit made sure the words cut as deeply as they could, "…_or_ the skin of your precious stagecoach line." But he felt a little self conscious saying it, and his paw came up involuntarily and flicked away some of the sand that had lodged in the fur on his arm. Sid stared hard at the manager. He didn't enjoy being mean, but the point had to be made. They couldn't just treat him any old way they liked.

The horses were ready, the passengers loaded and cargo tied down. Frank was back next to him, shot gun in hand. Sid glared down at the manager and tossed him the remains of his carrot greens. "Here," he said, releasing the hand brake. "Throw these away for me, will ya, Fancy Boy? I've got a stagecoach to deliver."

And giving a snap to the reins, the coach was off, heading into the sunset, amid shouts of "Hey! It's bumpy" and "Mommy, are we there yet? I have to go potty."

The station manager hung his head and turned slowly toward his office where a line of irate passengers was already forming. There would be complaint forms to deal with, lost luggage to explain.


	3. Chapter 3 The Heckled and the Hectic

_I've no claims on the Far Side, owned by Gary Larson. This fanfiction is a take-off on one of his inexplicable comic sketches, using the name he gave to the rabbit. Read and Review._

**Go Ahead and Jump, Sid…**

Chapter Three: The Heckled and The Hectic

The ride was going fine so far. They were into it a couple of hours already and Frank hadn't started grumbling yet. It was amazing. Nor had he poked fun, except when the Rabbit had strapped on the company-provided seat-belt which he preferred because it gave him more control in driving. Frank, who never wore his, was beginning to get used to the Rabbit and his habits. And the noise of the horses and creaky wheels of the coach made it difficult to hear the passengers whining inside, so all in all it was starting out a pleasant trip. All, that is, except for one thing…Sid put a paw to his mouth and shook away a yawn.

"Hand me that poncho, Frank, will ya?"

"Get it yourself, ya stinking varmint," muttered Frank. But he reached down and grabbed the poncho.

Sid caught the garment in his lap and dexterously dipped his pointy-eared head into the hole, pulling it over him with one paw, all the while managing the reins without waver. The night was promising a chill, and cold temperatures always made him feel sleepy.

Of course, what with the non-stop schedule he'd been through in the last several weeks and all, it was a wonder the big white Rabbit wasn't wakefully dreaming right now. Ever since that first stagecoach accident and the loss of the company's number one driver and team over Ichabod Falls, the pace had been hard on all the remaining drivers. Frank had been riding shotgun on that coach that was destroyed. Somehow he had survived to tell the tale. "Driver went to sleep" was all he would say.

That was funny. It had never occurred to Sid before, but…come to think of it, Frank had also been involved in the second and third stagecoach accidents over the course of the last month as well. The company had been bouncing the man from one scuttled crew to the next, and somehow he kept surviving these great mysterious accidents. Always he was the lone survivor to tell the story_. What is it with this guy?_ thought Sid. _Is he bad luck?_ He looked over at the fat man riding next to him. Frank now dozed in his seat and nodded along with the rhythm of the road. Every now and then the man would mutter something aloud as he dreamed, something like, "Stupid Chihuahuas with their tiny doorbells!" Even in sleep he harassed and complained.

The somber mood gave the Rabbit time to reflect. Westerland Stage company had been getting desperate enough to begin hiring new drivers from all walks of life. It was how he, Sid, had gotten the job. But the company was also under a lot of pressure to keep the news of the wrecks away from the public. They wanted to avoid losing stockholder support. But no one had figured on continuing to lose coaches and drivers. Now they were down to just one driver and the pace had been pretty hard on him.

The Rabbit shook his head. It didn't matter anyway. Frank or no Frank, Sid was in control of this stagecoach. _If only it wasn't so shivering cold out here tonight!_

"Hey, Frank," the Rabbit said, trying to strike up a conversation just to be doing something, even if it _was_ to talk with the king of insults sitting next to him.

"Yeah, Garden-Rat?" The man never missed a beat. He sat up groggily, pushing the brim of his hat back from his eyes.

"Hey, how come you never applied to be a driver? I mean, you could have had _this_ job, you know. I'd probably be the one holding the shotgun for you instead of the other way around."

The man grinned and spat some tobacco. "Yeah, Rabbit. You know, I am a pretty good driver, too, but…well, for some reason the company Bigwigs think I hold a shotgun rather proudly and all."

The man didn't look too proud about it, though. He scowled as if the memory scraped at old wounds. "I _did_ apply," he said finally. "Don't ask me why, but they said they needed me _here_. With the shortage of drivers and everything! And they need me _here_."

The Rabbit thought about this for a while. The man's bitterness was apparent. But…oh what the hey, it was on his mind so he might as well ask. Sid said, "What happened to those other coaches, anyway?" The question hung in the cold wind, like a kite flapping along over their heads.

_My, but the desert gets chilly fast, _thought the Rabbit. Sid was just considering how to rephrase the question, thinking Frank hadn't heard, when the man suddenly began speaking again. And his reply had a bit of an edge to it, the way a dull knife does, sawing on baggage straps.

"Those other drivers," Frank began, "They started getting tired, each in their turn. I was riding shotgun with them…and…I offered to take the reins, but would they listen? No. So, the next thing you know…er…well, eventually, we wake up and we're going over the Falls. Just like that." He snapped his fingers. "…Or, if you prefer another coach, another wreck…we sit up, rub our eyes and see that we're all in flames at the reins…and the whole coach-full of passengers and the baggage are afire beneath our butts. Driver, he goes down with the ship. Me? I happened to fall off by accident…"

Frank's voice began to take on a droning, sing-song appeal as he went on, so the Rabbit began to nod a little. But he managed to catch himself in time and thought of something to interrupt with. He spoke up: "There's some talk that _you_ were to blame for that fire." Even as he said it, he hoped it would agitate the man enough to at least give him some inflection. It didn't work.

"I was not to blame for the fire. I was resting. They say I started the fire. How could I do that? I _chew_ tobaccy, I don't burn it." It made sense only to him and he spat some juice off the side to prove it. The spittle floated down on the wind and in through the window of the coach. Cries of dismay from within were lost in the rumble of the wheels.

Frank's voice, monotonous as ever, went on. "They say I caused the landslide, too, but no one's left around to prove it. They say a lot of things. It is all just a bunch of hogwashhhh…"

_This guy could talk a Rabbit to sleep,_ thought Sid. He was struggling to keep his eyes open. The poncho was feeling warm now. Maybe if he just snuggled down into it a bit more…

For a moment, the night seemed to blur for the driver. The horses out front with the systematic rhythm of their hooves and jingling harnesses played on his dulling ears a hypnotic lullaby. Overhead, the sky was that navy blue, sleepy color, and in the distance a lone coyote wheedled out a mournful song to the moon. It was tranquil…


	4. Chapter 4 Mad Man, Cool Rabbit

_I've no claims on the Far Side, owned by Gary Larson. This fan fiction is a take-off on one of his inexplicable comic sketches, using the name he gave to the rabbit. Read and Review._

**Go Ahead and Jump, Sid…**

Chapter Four: Mad Man, Cool Rabbit

"You know, Rabbit…" It was Frank talking again. "If you want me to drive, you look awfully tired, like you could use a break."

The ride had been so monotonous up to this point that Frank's words actually caused Sid to start from a daze. Had he been dreaming? The Rabbit stifled a yawn and said brusquely, "Nah, nah…I'm fine, Doc, really." But when he glanced at Frank he was surprised to see a look of genuine concern on the man's face. _Hmm, maybe he does care._

They rode on in silence for a while longer. Then suddenly, Sid was waking up and Frank was shaking him. The stage was still rolling along, but the horses weren't being driven hard like was needed if they were going to get back on schedule.

"Hey!" said Frank, "What the heck are you doin', Partner?"

"Okay, okay, I'm awake!" said Sid, flustered. Maybe Frank was right after all. Sid couldn't go on like this forever. The schedule and stress, it had worn him down. _I'm a big, white, fluffy bunny rabbit for Pete's sake!_ he thought. He knew that he needed to sleep very soon.

"Just lean back and relax, little fella," said Frank, gently reaching for the reins. His hands grasped them, but Sid did not let go. _It's my job_, thought the Rabbit, but bit by bit his own grip relaxed and his mind slid into oblivion.

* * *

Now there was a dream about some sort of nonsense, like little bunnies hopping around in a field of daisies. But then a large, dark shadow passed over their heads and suddenly the entire sky grew dark and ominous. The bunnies scattered, all but Sid. He hugged the ground, frozen in his tracks, unable to jump. When he looked up, here came a fiery red stagecoach, swooping down upon him. It was all ablaze and its passengers were screaming in terror. Oh! And horrors of horrors, the driver was a big, _headless_, _white Rabbit!_ Then he saw _Frank…Frank_ was riding next to the hideous driver, laughing maniacally and waving that shotgun over his head!

* * *

Sid awoke in a cold sweat to the sounds of maniacal laughter and passengers screaming in terror. Where was Frank? There! right beside him. He was waving the shotgun over his head, and boy! could he laugh.

"Boohoowahahaha" laughed the man.

"What in blazes!" shouted Sid, reaching for the reins. But Frank didn't have the reins. No, they were down there. Sid's eyes bulged even more when he saw the situation. The reins were spanking around on the horses' hind parts. And those horses didn't seem to like it much. The stage was driving itself at full throttle!

A wild-eyed Frank turned to Sid. He stopped laughing long enough to say what was on his mind. "Ya see what happens when drivers go to sleep?" The next part he screamed, "Ya end up going off cliffs or something." The man pointed directly ahead of them and the buggy eyes of the Rabbit followed the indicator with a foreboding of dread.

"Boohoowahahahahaaaaa," sang Frank, still pointing.

It was true, they were headed straight for the edge of a cliff, toward a canyon drop-off of thousands of feet. Sid's eyes darted left and right, looking for some way to avert the disaster. But… _There's no time!_ His mind screamed it at him. _Jump, Sid! Jump while you still can. After all, God made you a Rabbit. Now Jump!_

They were seconds from going over the cliff. For some reason, the Rabbit thought to look at Frank who had suddenly quieted down. What would the man be doing at a time like this? The man was smirking. _Smirking!_ Frank leaned toward Sid and in a condescending voice said, "Go ahead and jump, Sid. I know you're thinking about it."

_What in blazes is that supposed to mean?_ thought the Rabbit. _Of course I'm thinking about it! I don't even have to think about it. I'm a Rabbit. That's what Rabbits do, for Pete's sake, they jump! _But Sid shook his head and said, "I'm not jumping."

Instead, the big white Rabbit did the one thing no one would have expected. He reached down, coolly, and put his paw on the hand brake. Only a two-horse's length from the edge of that abyss and the Rabbit thought to pull the hand brake. It was against all nature as a Rabbit, but it's what he did. He pulled that thing. A handbrake, not a pawbrake, and yet he yanked it hard.

And the whole stagecoach and horse team screeched to a skidding, writhing halt above the rim. Dust and horse dung together kissed the sky. And the two lead horses had to scurry and work like the dickens to regain their footing, but the stage stopped fast and all the passengers leaned uncontrollably out their little window, on the side of the coach that had swung round, and gazed down into the dark canyon below.

Of course, Frank, who wasn't wearing his seatbelt, was not able to stop so abruptly. He sailed on forward out of the seat, over the horses, and then downward out of sight, complaining loudly all the way. The Rabbit could hear him saying, "Silly Frank, tricks are for Kiiiiiiiiiiiiidddddsssssss….."

From inside the coach the little boy's voice said what everyone was thinking: "Don't worry, Momma, I don't need to go potty anymore."


	5. Chapter 5 When Life Gives You Carrots

_I've no claims on the Far Side, owned by Gary Larson. This fanfiction is a take-off on one of his inexplicable comic sketches, using the name he gave to the rabbit. Read and Review._

**Go Ahead and Jump, Sid…**

Chapter Five: When Life Gives You Carrots…

After it was all over, Sid was kind of expecting a raise in pay or a bonus at least for having saved the coach and passengers. But no one hailed him a hero. Instead, investors got wind of the problems and funding was immediately yanked from under them. The business folded and Sid was on the street again.

It would be weeks before he received his letter of acceptance from the baseball team in New York, and in the meantime Sid spent his days practicing his jumping, running and catching. He also organized a youth baseball team and made Donovan the club leader.

The former manager from the station came begging for a job and they hired him to drive them to and from games in his last remaining stagecoach. It was still a miserable ride, but Sid sat next to the manager, rode shotgun and got to say fun things like, "Hop down here and fetch me some water, Fancy Pants."

It was the best of times that a life on the far side of insanity could offer. And the Rabbit made the most of it. He developed a saying that would stick with him forever, becoming his trademark of optimism.

"When life gives you carrots…Make carrot soup!"


End file.
